Waking Up At 221B Baker Street
by Scare4irony
Summary: Everyday, John wakes up to an interesting situation...well he is living with one Sherlock Holmes, is he not? Not slash. My first Sherlock story.


AN: Hello everyone...my name is...well that's irrelevant really. Basically, I am a newbie in the realm of Sherlock and I'm coming out of a 3 month break in writing. I have never written for Sherlock before so I hope I've kept the characters true. This has subtle references to the Sherlock episodes but not much, it's basically John's first week of living in Baker Street. Hope you enjoy :D

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**WAKING UP AT 221B BAKER STREET**

_Night 1_

"John! I've figured it out, I bloody figured it out!"

He slowly began to stir, but once the quiet pressed on, he felt like there was no reason to stay awake. John Watson was spending his first night at 221B Baker Street and so far it had chalked up to be a unimpressive experience differing from the many comments he had received prior to moving in.

"John, did you hear me?"

The yelling came nearer and he stirred again desperately tried to blink away the sound._ I heard you, whole damn building heard you - go away!_ John thought irately. Clamping the pillow down around his ears attempted to settle back into sleep but alas, this was not to happen.

Door flying open, nearly off it's hinges, saw Sherlock Holmes enter with apparent exhilaration. He paced the length of the room quietly ignoring the occupant until John snored quietly. Holmes, with not sense of boundary as yet briskly walked forward hauling the shorter man up until he was in a sitting position eyes blinking owlishly. "Anderson, the day will come where he'll be so pissed off..." he muttered.

Still reeling from the wake up call at... Two am in the morning, John could only nod his head.

Sherlock bent his head lower, still grasping the doctors shoulders, until they were only a few centimeters apart. "Be ready, I feel a chase coming on."

"I see," yawned John, "you haven't slept."

Sherlock snorted removing a hand from John's shoulder and pulling his phone out. "Sleep is boring. Chase," he grinned, "is fun."

**?_?**

_Night 2_

A small rattling from the outside pulled John from his dream. Drenched in sweat he opened his eyes quickly staring up at the ceiling. So much for the blog.

He knuckled his eyes waiting for the fuzzy red haze to disappear and rolled over onto his side.

"Christ!" he swore scrambling away from his bedside table.

Sherlock's friend, the skull was sitting calmly near his lamp teeth grinning at him in twisted pleasure.

"John, I can't seem to find Yorik! Mrs Hudson doesn't know where he is, I really need to speak to him." Sherlock's black gloved hand crawled around the door pushing it open. "John?"

Heart rate back to normal he pointed to the bedside table and rubbed his temples.

Sherlock smiled. "There you are Yorik, I have a few ideas I think you'd be interested in..."

**?_?**

_Night 3_

He could feel sleep slowly drifting away and consciousness clawing it's way upwards. Knowing that a trip to the store would be in order since hearing Sherlock moan about the lack of milk in the flat, John swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Stepping forward his foot came into contact with something soft but his still wakening responses were unhelpful, arms pin wheeling through the air until he toppled over onto the ground.

_Oomf._

"Watch where you're going," a voice murmured beside him.

To his astonishment, John turned and faced Sherlock with an incredulous expression. "Me watch out! I'm not the one lying in the middle of the floor...in my bedroom!"

"I had a headache, I was going ask you for aspirin, you being a doctor and all but it would've been a waste of effort, lying on the floor does wonders for a person's brain."

**?_?**

_Night 4_

It began with a few odd little noises. John's eyes flicked under his eyelids faster as the noise progressed into low lengthy tones.

A tapping came next.

Eyes flicking open as the screeching of notes danced through the flat he stood up and groggily made his way into the lounge.

"Sherlock!"

The playing stopped. Bow pointing downwards and neck still inclined to the shape of the violin.

"I'm a good flatmate," Sherlock protested, "I did warn you."

**?_?**

_Night 5_

_BANG!_

_BANG! BANG!_

_BANG!_

John's eyes flew open and he jolted out of bed fumbling for the gun under his pillow and tripping over the sheets that trapped his ankles. Unlatching the safety he ran down into the living room and drew the weapon up leveling the barrel with the offenders neck. "Turn around and drop the gun!" In the darkness he heard a deep sigh that sounded like Sherlock. "Sherlock? You alright."

The vicinity of the voice surprised him. "I will be once you lower your gun."

John swore loudly, stomping his way to the light switch and flicking the plastic upwards. The room flooded in white light before petering off allowing him to take in the scene before him. Mrs Hudson's 'beautiful' floral wall paper now was home to four - very much - still smoking bullet holes with Sherlock standing on the coffee table in his pyjamas and robe with the gun held to his side.

"I coulda killed you!" John shrieked. "I could have put a bullet in you-"

"That would've been interesting," Sherlock said seriously.

John gaped. Only Sherlock would find his potential death interesting.

" I was bored." He swiftly leapt off the table and took John's gun from his hand placing it next to his own on the mantle. John looked at him numbly, still standing next to the light switch.

"JOHN! SHERLOCK! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" Sherlock's grin faltered for a second and John was surprised to see a little bit of fear captivate his face before disappearing. Mrs Hudson's footfalls were coming closer.

"Damn...how are you going to explain this to her?" John asked seriously watching Sherlock inch away from the front door.

"Well I think I shall retire to bed."

"Sherlock! Don't you leave me here to explain this!" John yelled at the retreating form.

"Have a good night John."

**?_?**

_Night 6_

There were too many voices.

People were in the chatter continued and John rolled out of bed feeling that the river of voices wouldn't be ending any time soon.

A man in coveralls was screaming at Sherlock. "How dare you say that to my face!" Sherlock shrugged, opening his mouth to defend himself when he was suddenly covered in a sticky substance.

"Oi!" John walked out from behind the door and wrestled the man out of the flat. "I ought to have you reported or something."

"See if I care!" the man spat out before leaving.

John pinched the bridge of his nose before entering the flat to confront Sherlock on...whatever he was doing. "Explain," he said, the still wall paper glue covered Sherlock began to talk about the labourers many affairs and his dabbling in gambling and other vices when he sighed and held up his hand motioning for the man to stop . "I mean, why was he here?"

"He was meant to fix the wall," Mrs Hudson said glumly.

**?_?**

_Night 7_

The weight in the bed shifted and John's brow crinkled in confusion. Flinging an arm of his face he met the stare of Sherlock who had his arm out expectantly.

"Lemme sleep Holmes." Sherlock's eyes clouded over before clearing again, his mouth turning into a frown.

"You are annoyed?" he questioned. "You called me 'Holmes'."

"I'm tired Hol-Sherlock," John amended. "What do you want?

"Well...Watson," Sherlock said, disdain for the situation filtered into his voice, "Nicotine patches, where do you keep them?" Tapping his fingers nervously on the bedspread he leapt over John, head dangling over the edge of the bed so his curly ringlets of hair caressed the floor. "Box, there's a box here, I know it."

John stared at the back of Sherlock's shoulders, his legs hung off from one side of the bed, his torso across the middle, and his neck and head over the other side. "I don't smoke and how many are you wearing now?"

"You may not, but you know that I do. You also know that I go through several a day, as I am displaying to you right now and as you have assimilated to my ways you will know to hide a box or two otherwise you'll worry. You expect me to go and buy them myself yet you enjoy fighting with the self serving counters as it gives you an outlet for your thoughts, the customers that watch you frightened add to the excitement." John sighed. "The amount I am wearing is irrelevant."

John opened the drawer next to him pulling out a nicotine patch. Sherlock kneeling on John's bed, bored with the search waited holding his arm out like a child.

"You have to stop coming into my room in the middle of the night," John said seriously.

Sherlock nodded mutely eyes still trained on the patch."Hit me."

Fingers twitching slightly-

John did.

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AN: It's up to you about whether John clocked him one or not. So what did you think? Was it any good, I'd love to write some more for Sherlock if you're willing to have me :) So review and let me know if this was any good, Scare4irony


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